


the one that I need (could be right here by my side)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [53]
Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Insecurity, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Minor Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: “Do you want to go see a movie after work?” Immediately after the words leave his mouth, Steven exhales loudly, like every one of his nerves is expressing relief at once, and Andrew frowns. He can’t see why that question would have Steven so on edge; they’ve gone to the movies together plenty of times, albeit usually with some of the other Tasty crew or with the Unsolved gang.“Sure,” he answers. “Is Adam coming too?”Steven laughs, shaky and high-pitched.“I didn’t ask him. Or anyone else. I kinda... wanted it to be the two of us. Like a...” He lets out another deep breath before he presses forward, the words stumbling over each other. “Like a date.”Andrew’s mind sputters to a stop.





	the one that I need (could be right here by my side)

**Author's Note:**

> a little while ago, I received a prompt asking if I could write a Standrew fic based on the song [Sidekick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXtLryriWeM) by Walk The Moon (which is a _delightful_ song), and while the first two ideas I had fizzled out, the third idea spiraled into this sprawling fluff-fest. so here's this! this is also heavily influenced by [Aquaman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRVgptW7bYg), also by Walk The Moon. 
> 
> the biggest of thanks goes to [Hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect) for betaing this ridiculous thing. go give her fics some love! any remaining typos or miscellaneous fuck-ups are all because of me.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

Steven is perched on the edge of Andrew’s desk when he asks (or, more accurately, when he blurts it out). When Andrew glances up from what he plans to be his last email of the day, Steven is fiddling with his phone in his lap, staring down at it intensely in a manner that feels deliberate, like he’s trying to avoid looking somewhere else. There’s a dark flush creeping up his cheeks, and Andrew swivels in his chair so that his knee is brushing against Steven’s dangling legs.

“Don’t think so,” he answers, mentally combing through his calendar for the next day. They’re in between Worth It episodes at the moment, and as far as he can remember, he hasn’t volunteered to help with any projects tomorrow that might keep him late. “Why?”

“Um.” Steven keeps fiddling with his phone, bouncing it against his thigh hard enough that Andrew is afraid it’s going to slip right out of his fingers. He hasn’t seen Steven this nervous in a long time, not since there were some complications on their last trip to Japan that required them to basically throw out all their planning and shoot an episode on the fly, and he drops one hand to Steven’s knee and squeezes gently for reassurance. Normally, Steven thrives off touch, but when Andrew pulls his hand away, his face has only grown redder, and his phone is bouncing faster.

By the time Steven finally talks again, Andrew is _actually_ starting to get concerned.

“Do you want to go see a movie after work?” Immediately after the words leave his mouth, he exhales loudly, like every one of his nerves is expressing relief at once.

Andrew frowns. He can’t see why that question would have Steven so on edge; they’ve gone to the movies together plenty of times, albeit usually with some of the other Tasty crew or with the Unsolved gang.

“Sure,” he answers. “Is Adam coming too?”

Steven laughs, shaky and high-pitched. His phone keeps bouncing.

“I didn’t ask him. Or anyone else. I kinda... wanted it to be the two of us. Like a...” He lets out another deep breath before he presses forward, the words stumbling over each other. “Like a date.”

Andrew’s mind sputters to a stop, and a full-body flush rushes over him like a flash flood.

The thing is, even though filming Worth It kind of feels like being on a date sometimes (albeit some kind of polyamorous date, what with the presence of Adam and Annie and sometimes Rie and Matt), he’s wanted to ask Steven out on a _proper_ date for an embarrassingly long time. On days where he’s a little too tired to properly reign his thoughts in, or nights where they all go out for drinks and he gets too melancholy for his own good, he’s envisioned a thousand possible scenarios, a thousand possible ways that he could broach the topic.

The problem, of course, is that in more than a few of those scenarios, his imagination had turned towards the all too real possibility that Steven would say no (never in a rude or angry way, but in a definitive way). From there, it was only a short jump to imagining how awkward Worth It would be, how hard it would be to keep their on-screen dynamic believable, how much of an inconvenience it would be to Adam and the crew.

So he’d never asked.

And he’d never imagined, not in any serious way, that maybe Steven was going through the same kind of mental turmoil. 

“A date?” He clears his throat so that it’s not _completely_ obvious that his brain is a mess of static, like a broken radio. Steven nods.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t, I mean, I can ask Adam if he wants to come if you don’t… we can pretend this never happened, if you want to.”

“I don’t want to,” Andrew responds. “Pretend, I mean. A date sounds great, Steven.”

It’s possibly not the most eloquent adjective he could have used, but it makes a smile, tentative at first and then nothing less than beaming, stretch across Steven’s mouth, so Andrew can’t be too mad at himself about it.

“Okay,” Steven says, letting out a sigh that almost sounds _giddy_. Andrew knows that he could be reading too much into the sound, could be imagining some significance that isn’t there, but it makes his own flush grow in intensity, until even the back of his neck is burning. “I’ll text you sometime later?”

“Sounds good.” It takes a few seconds for him to steel himself for his next move, which is ridiculous; mere minutes ago, dropping his hand to Steven’s knee was the easiest thing in the world, but now, it feels like it could be a step too far, like he could be putting too much pressure on this before it even has a chance to get started. While he does get up the nerve to do it, he _doesn’t_ have the nerve to let it linger, and he settles for squeezing Steven’s knee lightly before he slides his hand away. “Night, Steven.”

“Night.” Steven slides off Andrew’s desk and nearly takes a sheaf of papers with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” As he walks off, his fingers brush against Andrew’s shoulder, and even that gentle touch makes Andrew bite back a shudder. He turns to watch Steven head out of the pod, waving goodnight to a few people who are still hanging around. Once he’s turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Andrew twists back to face his laptop, sighs out what feels like all the air in his body, crosses his arms on top of his desk and drops his head on top. 

He’s in full-blown crisis mode. The thought of the potential consequences of this, of what it might mean for them in the long run, regardless of whether things go good or bad, weighs a ton. It feels like he could easily suffocate under the weight of it.

He forces himself to finish up his email, after which he slaps his laptop closed and gathers together all of his stuff on muscle memory, since his mind is too occupied flitting from one possibility to the next.

What if things go perfectly? What if, at the end of the night, he actually gets to kiss Steven? What if he gets to feel Steven’s hands threading up into his hair and the weight of Steven’s arms around his neck?

But what if the date is a disaster? What is he says the wrong thing or makes the wrong move, pushes things too fast?

Frankly, that’s a _lot_ easier to imagine.

If he doesn’t tell someone about this unexpected turn of events, he’s fairly certain that he’s going to ruminate on it until the early hours of the morning, until his thoughts drift into toxic territory. However, telling someone feels like it could be a form of self-sabotage, if he’s not careful; word travels fast around the office, and he doesn’t exactly want everyone to know about their date before it even happens. Normally, he would immediately go to Adam and Annie, but while he has no doubt that they’d be supportive, in case things _do_ go wrong, he doesn’t want them to feel even more awkward than they probably already will.

Feet automatically carrying him towards the exit, he’s honestly debating the merits of calling his mom and using her as a sounding board when something bright yellow catches his eye.

Ryan is resting on one of the couches near the stairs, wearing a hideous Lakers jersey, working on his laptop with his headphones resting around his neck. He’s not the person Andrew would typically go to for advice, seeing as Ryan is only barely functional as an adult on the best of days, but any port in a storm and all that.

“Hey,” he says, walking over and dropping down on the couch. Ryan glances up at him with a wary look.

“Look, if this is about what we said to Steven earlier, that was _all_ Shane’s idea. I’m just his patsy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Andrew’s sure it has something to do with the ridiculous Twitter feud the three of them revive every so often, and he’s _also_ sure that Ryan was an active participant, not just a patsy, but for the time being, that’s not important. He takes a moment to think about how to bring up the topic before he decides that the direct approach is probably the easiest. “Steven just asked me on a date.”

“About damn time,” Ryan immediately replies with not a hint of surprise on his face. “Shane owes me fifty bucks.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, he thought you’d eventually summon the courage to say something. I figured you’d die first. But I assume you said yes.” Andrew nods.

“Yeah. But I don’t...” The words are on the tip of his tongue, but actually spilling them out into the air, confessing his insecurities for someone else to hear, suddenly feels like an insurmountable task. Turning the conversation away from himself, bringing the same issues up in an indirect way, is easier, so he starts, “With you and Shane-”

“Look, just because I’m dating Shane doesn’t mean I know how it happened.”

“Not what I was going to ask. Weren’t you afraid of what might happen if you fucked things up? What would happen to Unsolved, I mean.” He expects Ryan to have some kind of quip on his tongue, but instead, he closes his laptop and leans back against the sofa, looking more thoughtful than Andrew has ever seen him.

“I mean, yeah,” he eventually answers. “Of course I was afraid. But it was either take a chance when I was actually thinking clearly or blurt it out one night, which probably would have fucked everything up anyways.”

That’s a point Andrew hadn’t considered. Despite what Ryan may have thought, he’s sure that, given enough time, he would have gotten enough courage to ask Steven out, but chances are that it would have been when he’d had too much to drink, or when they were filming, or some other inopportune time when it simply burst from his chest.

“Look,” Ryan continues, “you look at Steven like he hung the moon. It’s a little pathetic, but you owe it to yourself to see this through. And if it doesn’t work, be adults and figure out how to work together.”

“You should probably work on your delivery a bit.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ryan laughs. “Quit freaking out. It doesn’t fit with your whole persona.”

“What persona?”

“Mysterious asshole. _That_ persona.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and gets to his feet.

“Thanks, Ryan. I think.”

“Anytime. When you and Steven get married, I want a front row seat. Just as an fyi.”

Andrew doesn’t even bother to grace that with an answer; instead, he flips Ryan off without looking back as he heads for the stairs.

&.

For the first ten minutes of his drive home, he manages to take Ryan’s advice about not freaking out to heart. He’s always had a tendency to overthink things, stew about them until events of minor importance became as towering as a mountain, and he knows that this is yet another example of that. He’s hyping Steven up too much, putting him on a pedestal. Steven may be his friend, one of his best friends, but Andrew has gone on dates with friends before, and that’s all this is. Just another date. Nothing worth panicking about. 

It doesn’t matter that he’s been in love with Steven for longer than he cares to think about. It doesn’t matter that, if things go wrong and this ends up being both their first and last date, he won’t be able to go to work without being reminded of that fact every damn day. It doesn’t matter that he’ll have to deal with the whole office looking at him knowingly for days, possibly even weeks afterwards.

None of that matters, and there’s no point in him thinking about it.

It’s just a date. 

&.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, he’s freaking out again.

He tries to distract himself by doing a little more work, by putting on a movie and making a needlessly complicated dinner, but none of it is successful. By the time he gives up and simply lays on his bed, he’s resigned himself to the fact he’s probably not going to get a whole lot of sleep.

That resignation only grows when his phone buzzes with a text from Steven, containing a list of movies and times, followed by _will any of these work?_ Truthfully, Andrew had been so distracted by his own racing mind that he kind of forgot that their date wasn’t actually set in stone. He picks a title that sounds vaguely familiar and starts at 6:20. It means they’ll probably have to leave straight from work, but it also means that he won’t have enough time to go home, panic some more, and potentially do something stupid, like back out.

A moment after he sends off his pick, Steven responds with a thumbs-up and says he’ll buy the tickets ahead of time. Before Andrew can respond, another text comes through.

_i’m super nervous about this, btw._

Bizarrely enough, that message actually quells some of the chaos roiling through his mind. For a moment, he toys with the idea of calling Steven, but he’s fairly certain he would stutter his way through the conversation or choke on his words, so he settles for a text instead.

**_me too. but i’m looking forward to it._ **

When Andrew returns from brushing his teeth, he has a new message. It’s a simple heart; not one of the fancy ones, with the little sparkle or the arrow through it, just a standard, purple heart.

All the blood rushes to his head, and he drops heavily onto the edge of his bed. He’s certain it’s not the first time Steven has sent him a message with that emoji in it (he loves using them possibly more than anyone else Andrew knows, except maybe Rie), but he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s the first time Steven has ever sent him _just_ that, on its own, not as part of a cluster of other emojis.

After an embarrassing amount of deliberation, he sends a red heart back in return, puts his phone on silent, and spends the next several hours trying to concentrate on a show on his laptop and not on the fact that there are less than twenty-four hours (and counting) until the date.

Eventually, he manages to drift off.

&.

He wakes up fifteen minutes before his alarm and, after blinking away sleep from his heavy eyes, is hit with a startling revelation.

Namely, that the problem with going on a date straight from work is that he has to actually prepare himself for it _now_. He has to go to work in his date outfit, unless he borrows something from wardrobe, which sounds like more trouble than it’s worth and would probably lead to some awkward questions he’s not ready to answer yet.

Really, it shouldn’t be anything to worry about - Steven has already seen him at his best and at his worst. It’s not like this is a blind date, like he needs to be concerned with first impressions. But still, he finds himself standing in front of his closet, surveying his collection of sweaters and hoping that one will stand out as the right choice.

None of them do.

He’s not sure what makes him decide to lean into his nerves, but before he can lose his courage, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and sends Steven a text.

**_I don’t know what to wear._ **

By the time he gets a response, he’s managed to pick out a pair of dark jeans. Steven has sent him a picture, and it takes Andrew a moment to realize that he’s looking at Steven’s unmade bed, in the center of which is a small mountain of sweaters and jackets and pants.

The caption reads _me neither!_

Suddenly, Andrew’s dilemma seems more like a minor inconvenience than an actual problem. With a fond shake of his head, he sends back a reply.

**_wear anything but that weird trench coat. it’s horrible._ **

_you just have bad taste. i’m going to wear it._

They end up texting back and forth while Andrew gets ready. In the end, he goes with a simple white t-shirt, partially because it’s the first thing he sees when he opens his dresser and partially because he has a distinct memory of wearing it on one of their flights to Japan, a flight that Steven spent most of with his head canted over onto Andrew’s shoulder, softly snoring.

Even despite the fact that Andrew’s shirt had been soaked through with drool by the time they landed, it’s a good memory.

When he gets to the office, the rest of their pod is empty. Andrew drops down at his desk so that he can get his laptop set up before he goes to grab coffee, but before he can do much more than open his emails, he hears footsteps approaching and looks up to see Steven strolling towards him with two takeaway cups of coffee and a paper bag. Thankfully, despite what he insisted, he’s not wearing the horrible trench coat; instead, he’s in his red and blue pullover hoodie, the one that’s artfully tattered, ludicrously soft, and a little too long in the sleeves. Andrew’s seen him in it more times than he count, but something about the sight of it under _these_ circumstances makes his heart do a kind of skip and jump.

“It was too hot for the coat,” Steven says, carefully depositing the coffees and the paper bag on Andrew’s desk before he hops up onto the edge.

“So you went with a hoodie instead. Because that makes perfect sense.” Andrew tries to go for deadpan, but there’s a damn smile playing at the edges of his mouth that he can’t keep away, nervous and stupidly giddy. Steven laughs and gently kicks Andrew’s knee.

“Shut up.” His cheeks are pink, and when he leans out and tugs at the sleeve of Andrew’s shirt, like he’s trying to get his attention, they go a shade darker. “I like this shirt.”

If it was coming from anyone else, Andrew might brush the compliment off. But coming from Steven, who undoubtedly remembers what happened on their trip to Japan-

(It’s one of the many, many things Andrew loves about Steven - he remembers the littlest things, the smallest details, birthdays and places they’ve been in the past and the stories behind the most trivial of objects.)

-the compliment both makes him more nervous, more aware of the potential consequences that tonight might have, and a little bold. It only seems polite to return the favor, so he tugs at the end of Steven’s sleeve, where it’s dangling to his knuckles. He doesn’t mean to skim his fingers over the thin skin on the inside of Steven’s wrist, but the softness of it against his fingertips makes him forget how to speak for a few seconds.

“This is one of my favorites.” Steven’s answering grin is one of the loveliest sights that Andrew has ever had the privilege of looking upon.

“Thanks.” His flush has climbed down his neck, and absently, Andrew wonders if he’d be able to feel it if he pressed his mouth against Steven’s throat. Extracting a croissant from the paper bag, he continues, “I’m gonna be busy most of the day, Jen needs some help with a video. But I’ll meet you downstairs at six?” His smile has faded some, and there’s a new note in his voice, one that Andrew recognizes from all the times he’s heard Steven try to respond to a compliment. It’s more than nerves: it’s outright insecurity.

Andrew’s pretty sure that he has more than enough insecurities for the two of them. The least he can do is try to set Steven at ease, even though he’s nowhere close to feeling that way himself.

“Yeah,” he answers, nudging his knee against Steven’s leg. “If you get free for lunch, let me know?”

Steven’s smile brightens again.

“I will,” he says, sliding off Andrew’s desk. “See you later.” As he strolls off, Adam comes walking through the door, and they have some kind of quick exchange, the words too quiet for Andrew to hear. It’s only when Adam glances over at him that Andrew realizes he’s been staring, and he rapidly swivels back to his laptop and takes a too hot sip of coffee.

Unsurprisingly, Adam doesn’t seem fooled, based on the knowing look on his face when he drops down into the chair beside Andrew.

What _is_ surprising is what comes out of his mouth.

“You excited for your date?”

Andrew immediately stops pretending to work and glances over. There’s the barest hint of a smile on Adam’s mouth, almost hidden by his beard.

“Did Ryan tell the whole office already?” he sighs as he leans back in his chair, already brainstorming ways he can get revenge.

“Ryan knows? How did that happen?”

“I needed some advice. And I wanted to wait to tell you about it, just in case it turns out to be a disaster.”

“It won’t.” Adam says it with nothing less than absolute certainty. “Steven told me right after you said yes. I don’t think he was even out of the building when he texted me.”

“Really?” Objectively, Andrew’s not exactly surprised - Steven’s enthusiasm has a way of easily spilling over, which is yet another thing Andrew loves about him - but the fact that Steven was (and is) _that_ excited feels too good to be true.

Adam nods. “So stop freaking out. It’s only going to be a bad date if you overthink it and psych yourself out.”

“I’m not overthinking anything. I’m fine.” It’s a weak attempt to cover his own ass, and he can tell from the way Adam’s smile comes back that Adam immediately sees through it. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything; he just shakes his head and puts his headphones on, and Andrew does the same after taking a bite of the croissant Steven brought him.

Before he launches into work, he glances at the clock in the bottom right corner of his screen.

_9:10 AM._

He has a feeling that the next nine hours are going to be some of the longest of his life.

&.

Thankfully, the morning goes by surprisingly fast.

He gets dragged into participating in no less than three tests, volunteers to help Alix and Rie pick up food for a video, answers a slew of emails. For most of the day, he’s so concentrated on what he’s doing that the nerves and anxiety dim to an easy to ignore thrum in the back of his mind.

But lunchtime is borderline unbearable.

Steven sends him a text to say that he can’t make it, and that’s enough to make all of those thoughts come racing back in vivid color. Even though it’s a truly beautiful day outside, even though his favorite food truck is at the campus today and he has Adam and Annie for company, all he can think about is what might happen after six o’clock.

He doesn’t realize that he’s thoroughly zoned out until Annie snaps her fingers an inch away from his nose.

“Maybe we should knock you out,” she muses, stealing one of Adam’s fries. “Just for a few hours. So you stop freaking out.”

“I’m not-”

“Steven just texted you and you didn’t even notice,” Adam interrupts. “You’re freaking out.”

Andrew doesn’t have a good response to that. 

He picks up his phone to see what Steven sent him. It’s a picture of his own desk, exactly as he left it fifteen minutes ago, with the exception of the stuffed teddy bear sitting in front of his keyboard, head flopped to the side. Andrew immediately recognizes it as the bear Shane used for the Ruining History episode that he and Annie guested on; the dead giveaway is the small hole in the mouth that formerly had a cigarette glued in it.

_look what we found in the props closet! he’s yours now, btw. I threw the cigarette out._

Andrew is struck with the sudden urge to drop his head to the table and groan. It already feels like his head is going to explode, and there’s still over five hours until their actual date.

“Why are you blushing?” Adam asks. Wordlessly, Andrew pushes his phone across the table so they can see the picture, and Annie gasps.

“Please say you’re going to keep him on your desk. He needs a good home with someone who won’t glue cigarettes in his mouth.”

“It should have been a lit cigarette, for historical accuracy,” Andrew mutters, taking the phone back. He’s definitely going to keep the bear, although maybe not on his desk - it’s getting cluttered enough as is, with the plushies he keeps picking up as souvenirs on their Worth It adventures - but it _would_ probably fit on his bookshelf at home.

Before he can come up with a response, his phone buzzes with a new message from Annie to the Worth It group chat the four of them have. When he switches over, he’s met with a picture of himself, clearly shot only seconds before. He’s staring down at his phone with a grin plastered to his mouth, looking so damn _fond_ that he’s surprised that his face doesn’t ache.

The caption reads: _btw Steven, Andrew likes the present._

Before Andrew can figure out what to say, a text bubble pops up from Steven. The message is only a happy face and another heart emoji, but Andrew’s face starts to burn, until he’s pretty sure that it’s as red as the emoji. He turns his phone back off and goes back to picking at his food, all while trying to ignore the fact that he can feel Adam and Annie staring at him, that he can perfectly envision the twin smiles they’re probably wearing.

Five more hours.

He can do this.

&.

While the morning was so busy that he could barely put a thought together, the afternoon drags.

Adam asks him to help with sound on a video he’s directing, which takes up a few hours, but he still finds himself checking his watch whenever he has a spare moment. Once filming is done for the day, he heads back over to his desk for the first time since before lunch. The stuffed version of Corporal Wojtek is in the same spot, but now there’s a post-it note with a lopsided heart drawn on it stuck to his chest. Andrew thinks about taking a picture and sending it back to Steven, but he’s probably still busy running around with Jen, so he settles for taking a picture for himself before he carefully sets the bear on the floor underneath his desk.

At the very least, even if the night does go head over heels in the worst way possible, at least he’ll have some evidence of the fact that, for a few hours, things were going very, very well.

The desks around him start emptying out around four, and by the time five o’clock comes, he’s the only one still in the pod. On an ordinary day, he would take that as his cue to duck out as well, but he still has an hour until he’s supposed to meet Steven, and if he has to answer another email, he thinks he might actually lose his mind. On the flip side, if he doesn’t find some kind of distraction, the churning in his stomach might actually kill him.

Thankfully, before he can reach that point, Ryan walks into the room.

“Figured you’d still be here.” He drops himself down onto the edge of Andrew’s desk. “You nervous for your date?”

“Get off,” Andrew responds, prodding Ryan in the thigh with a pen. “And no.”

“That’s a lie.” Obligingly, Ryan slides off and steals Adam’s chair instead. “You look like you’re thinking about making a run for it.”

“I’m not going to.” The thought is tempting, but Andrew isn’t going to back out now. He’s not going to be _that_ person. “It’s just... this is a lot.” It’s not exactly the most coherent thing he’s ever said, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. Thankfully, Ryan nods.

“Trust me, I know. I almost puked before Shane and I went on our first date. Like, right in the parking lot outside. But I got through it. And you’re going to get through this too.” With a grin, he adds, “How’s my delivery? Better than yesterday?”

“Keep it up and you might be able to land a side job delivering pep talks.” Andrew glances down at his watch and sighs.

Still forty-five minutes to go.

“Look, before your head pops off, you wanna help me rummage through the props closet? I wanna find some new decorations for the Unsolved set. Shane tripped and broke a bunch today.”

Frankly, while he’d never say it out loud, Andrew’s never been more grateful for Ryan Bergara.

“Yeah,” he says, closing his laptop. “Sounds good.”

It successfully kills the rest of the time; in fact, Andrew gets so drawn into the task, digging through old tote bins and cardboard boxes and tossing stuff at Ryan that might work, that it’s only his phone buzzing with a text from Steven that makes him pause.

_all finished! meet you in the lobby?_

Andrew immediately tosses Ryan the miniature skeleton figure he found buried underneath a multitude of Halloween decorations and types back a reply as he gets to his feet. 

**_be right there._ **

“You’ve got this,” Ryan says, adding the skeleton to the ‘maybe’ pile at his side.

“Thanks, Ryan. I mean it.”

“Anytime, man. Just remember, I want that front row seat when you get married. And some free champagne.” 

Andrew flips him off as he heads for the door.

He stops at his desk just long enough to pack up his laptop and grab Corporal Wojtek. After a moment of deliberation, he takes the post-it note off the bear’s chest and sticks it to his desk lamp, right where he’ll be able to look at it on Monday morning.

Hopefully, it will serve as a nice way to start the day, and not an unpleasant reminder of how badly he fucked things up.

As he heads towards the staircase leading down into the lobby, every physical sensation that he’s been cycling through over the course of the day hits him at once. Anxiety flutters in his stomach, his throat tightens up, and his head feels disconnected from his neck, like there’s only a tenuous strand connecting the two.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was this terrified.

It’s all too possible that he’s _never_ been this terrified.

Steven is sitting at the bottom of the stairs with his back to Andrew, but Andrew can see that his leg is bouncing rapidly up and down, and he’s clutching his phone between his fingers like a life preserver. He’s staring down between his feet, but when Andrew starts walking down the stairs, his head swivels around, and a smile breaks across his face.

“Hey!” he says, jumping to his feet and stashing his phone in his pocket. Waving a hand at the bear, he asks, “You bringing him home?”

“Yeah. Not enough room at my desk.” Andrew tries his best to keep his voice steady and level, but he doesn’t think that he succeeds. “I was thinking he could live on my bookshelf.”

“Definitely a better home than the props room.” Andrew doesn’t know what Steven was helping Jen with today, but there’s a smudge of gold glitter on his temple, and he barely manages to restrain himself from reaching out and brushing it away. “Maybe you could fix his mouth somehow.”

“Maybe. Or I could put another cigarette in there.”

“If you do that,” Steven says, pushing the lobby door open, “I’ll take him back. And I’ll never give you another present. Not even a single macaron.” 

Even though it’s very clearly a joke, Andrew still feels his stomach swoop.

Some of the day’s heat has dissipated, but the sun is reflecting off the buildings around them, turning every pane of glass into a spark of light that is too bright to look at. Andrew lowers his gaze, meaning to turn his eyes towards the pavement so that he doesn’t have to squint, but before he can make it that far, he stops on Steven’s hand. It’s dangling free at his side, so close to Andrew’s that their knuckles are almost brushing. He can _feel_ Steven’s hand moving through the air, swinging back and forth in time with his steps.

The urge to close the already minimal space hits him, and before he can talk himself out of it, he does just that.

He holds his breath for the few seconds it takes him to fit his fingers between Steven’s, expecting all the while that Steven will stop walking or will pull his hand away. But while his footsteps stutter, he doesn’t do either of those things; instead, he curls his own fingers down, so that they’re palm to palm, and squeezes lightly.

Andrew starts breathing again.

Once they get to his car, Steven draws to a stop beside the passenger door. Out here, the glitter clinging to his temple is almost painfully bright, catching the stray rays of sun. His eyes flick down to where their hands are intertwined and then back up, and the softness of his smile makes Andrew’s heart trip over itself.

He’s spent a lot of time over the last few years thinking about kissing Steven, but the urge to lean in and press their lips together has never been more overwhelming than it is right now.

“Ready?” Steven asks, giving Andrew’s hand another squeeze. Andrew momentarily thinks about bringing Steven’s hand to his mouth so he can press his lips to his knuckles, but he thinks better of it. Taking his hand was one risk; it’s too early in the night to take another.

So he settles for nodding and reluctantly sliding his hand free.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

&.

Even though Andrew can still feel the heat of Steven’s palm burned into his own, the drive to the theater almost feels normal, like they’ve just finished up a Worth It episode and Steven is giving him a lift home. Steven has the radio on, but it’s turned down low enough that it’s little more than a murmur of sound, and he keeps pointing things out as they drive: a new taqueria that’s opened up, a brightly colored mural splashed against a concrete wall, an adorable dog tied up outside of a shop. He does it all without making a single misstep on the road. The only sign that anything is different, that this isn’t just an ordinary night, is that he’s talking a little bit faster than usual.

Well, that and the fact that he keeps _smiling_ at Andrew, soft around the edges, so damn beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight that Andrew almost can’t bear to look at him.

By the time they make it to the theater and get snacks, the previews are already playing. They grab two seats in the back row and settle in, popcorn spilling over the edge of the bag and onto the floor. Steven immediately steals a handful and knocks his knee against Andrew’s. At first, Andrew thinks it’s an accident, a side effect of him trying to get comfortable, but he doesn’t move it away. It stays there, and after a moment, Steven’s shoulder presses into his own too, even though the armrest must be digging into his ribs.

“I don’t really know what this movie is about,” he whispers. Andrew starts turning his head to answer and freezes midway through the process, because Steven is _right there_. If he keeps turning, they’ll be close enough for their noses to touch. He’ll be close enough to see every dark fleck of Steven’s eyes illuminated by the flicker of the screen, close enough to feel Steven’s breath against his own mouth.

He’s pretty sure if he gets that close, he won’t be able to stop himself from leaning in and closing the space between them, regardless of the fact there’s at least thirty other people in the room with them.

So he simply murmurs, “Me neither,” before he turns back to face the screen, heart racing. He grabs a helping of too-buttery popcorn so that he has something to do with his hands, so that he doesn’t do something stupid like drop one to Steven’s knee or to the swoop of his neck.

But the popcorn only lasts so long. Almost as soon as they finish the bag off, Andrew’s fingers start itching to touch Steven somehow. It’s an itch he’s felt before, but never this strongly, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s because they held hands earlier, if that fully roused something that he’s been able to keep at bay for the last few years.

The movie, which is some kind of spy thriller, seems fairly interesting, but he quickly loses track of the finer details of the plot. All he can focus on are the places where they’re pressed together, on the way Steven occasionally gasps or winces. When he leans over to whisper a comment about a fight scene, his breath tickles against the side of Andrew’s neck.

It’s that particular action that makes Andrew decide to fully throw caution to the wind.

He doesn’t try to be smooth about it, doesn’t try to pull the ol’ yawn-and-stretch move; he just moves a little closer, until the armrest is digging into his side, and drapes his arm around Steven’s shoulders. For a split-second, he waits for the other shoe to drop, but almost immediately, Steven cants his head over to rest on Andrew’s shoulder. It can’t be a very comfortable angle, but that’s where he stays for the rest of the movie. Even when the credits start to roll, he doesn’t move, at least not right away. Andrew doesn’t want to move either; his fingers are curled into the soft, worn fabric of Steven’s hoodie, and all it would take to press a kiss against the top of his head would be for Andrew to duck his head a little.

“That was pretty good,” Steven says, burying a yawn against Andrew’s chest as the lights come up. “Did you like it?”

Truthfully, Andrew can barely remember a single detail about the movie, but he nods anyways.

“Yeah,” he answers as he reluctantly slides his arm off Steven’s shoulder and stoops to grab their garbage from the floor. “I liked it.” Technically, while it might not be the whole truth, it also isn’t a lie; regardless of whether the movie was any good, he knows that he liked the _experience_ of it.

As soon as they’re both on their feet, Steven starts leading the way down the narrow aisle between the rows of seats. He doesn’t look back, but his hand reaches backwards towards Andrew, and the slight wiggle of his fingers tells Andrew what he needs to know: namely, that it’s okay for him to slide his fingers back into the gap between Steven’s.

So he does exactly that.

While the concrete and pavement has retained some of the day’s heat, there’s a fine drizzle falling from the sky when they step out into the parking lot that makes Andrew wish he had a coat with him. Steven stops while they’re still underneath the marquee, safely sheltered from the rain. His thumb is absently dragging up and down Andrew’s finger, leaving what feels like a fine trail of fire in its wake.

“I ate too much popcorn,” he groans.

“We did this wrong,” Andrew agrees. “We should have done dinner first. And then a movie.”

“Next time.” He says it like a promise, punctuates it by lightly squeezing Andrew’s hand. “We’ll learn from our mistakes.”

In any other context, Andrew guarantees that the words wouldn’t make his heart skip a beat. As is, between the sound of them slipping from Steven’s mouth, the feeling of his fingers tangled with Steven’s and the way the streetlights are casting his hair light orange, he falls a little further in love.

During the fall, he finds another shred of boldness, a shred that he clings to as he opens his mouth.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, trying his best to keep the words from leaving his mouth in a jumbled mess. “I don’t want to even _look_ at food right now, but...”

_I don’t want this night to end_ is on the tip of his tongue, but the words remain just out of reach.

Somehow, even though the words don’t leave his mouth, he suspects that Steven hears them anyway, based on the smile he flashes in Andrew’s direction.

“I could go for some tea, if you have some.”

“I have tea _and_ popcorn, just in case you change your mind about wanting more.”

Steven groans and uses their intertwined hands to lightly punch Andrew in the side of the leg.

“Don’t talk to me about popcorn,” he says, using his free hand to pull his hood up before he tugs Andrew towards the parking lot. “You owe me a cup of tea _and_ another movie just for bringing it up.”

Truthfully, there’s no reason for Andrew to flush at the thought. They’ve watched dozens of movies at his apartment together, fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of something after a long day of filming more times than he can count.

But that was before tonight. Now, there’s a new dimension to the thought, possibilities to consider, like whether or not Steven will melt into his side rather than lean against the opposite armrest, whether or not he’ll fall asleep with his head resting on Andrew’s shoulder, wrapped up underneath the throw blanket that Andrew purchased specifically because Steven is cold, all the time.

“Fine,” he answers, shivering when rain runs down the back of his neck. “But I get to pick the movie.”

“Okay.” When they separate to get into the car, Steven’s fingers drag down the length of Andrew’s palm, and Andrew shivers again. “I trust you.”

Considering what they’re talking about, Andrew’s pretty sure that those words shouldn’t mean as much as they do.

&.

By the time they get back to his apartment, his nerves have returned.

He’s made it this far without messing things up, but if things go wrong now, he’s going to be reminded of it every damn day. There will be no escaping it, unless he moves out of the apartment.

But even if he wanted to back out, it’s too late. Steven is kicking his shoes off by the door, Corporal Wojtek tucked underneath one arm, rain drying on his cheeks.

“I’m going to find him a place to live,” he says, waving the bear for emphasis. “Surprise me with the tea.”

While Steven wanders off, Andrew drops his laptop bag off on the kitchen table and digs through the cupboards for two mugs and some tea. Once he’s turned the kettle on, once he no longer has a distraction for his hands, he realizes that his fingers are shaking faintly, like he’s gone too long without eating.

“Stop it,” he mutters to himself, curling his fingers around the edge of the counter, popcorn sitting heavily in his stomach. He finds himself searching through his mind for Ryan’s pep talks, but while they’d helped in the moment, now they just make him _more_ nervous, remind him of how sure everyone else is that the night is going to go well.

That amount of pressure is, frankly, terrifying.

“Are you okay?”

Andrew turns around to find Steven standing in the doorway, mouth creased into a frown.

“Fine,” Andrew says, trying his best to sound breezy or, at the very least, neutral. “Where did you put him?”

“On top of the dresser in your bedroom.” Steven’s frown only grows as he walks across the room to stand in front of Andrew. “You don’t _look_ okay, Andrew. Did I... do you want me to go?”

“No!” Andrew almost chokes on the word in his haste to spit it out. “No, Steven. I don’t want you to go.” He sighs and curls his hands around the counter again, searching for some steadiness. He doesn’t exactly want to dissect his own insecurities, but he doesn’t want Steven to think that he’s not _happy_ here with him, that he’s somehow done something wrong. “It’s just… I feel like I’m going to fuck this up somehow. I’m scared that I’m going to do the wrong thing, and you’re going to realize that you’ve made a mistake.”

Before he can decide whether he wants to shut his mouth or say anything further, Steven crashes into him, hard enough to make Andrew stumble back against the counter, and tosses his arms around Andrew’s neck. Andrew doesn’t think; he ducks his face into Steven’s neck, flings his arms around Steven’s back, and pulls him in close.

It should feel suffocating, being so thoroughly wrapped up in someone, but instead, after being strung as tight as a tripwire for over twenty-four hours, Andrew finally feels some _relief_.

When Steven eventually moves away, he doesn’t go far; after a moment of hovering in front of Andrew, he braces their foreheads together, arms still wrapped tight around his neck, eyes closed.

“I’m scared too,” he says quietly. “Actually, I’m terrified. But I’ve wanted this for years, Andrew. Even if this doesn’t work out in the long run, I know it’s not a mistake. Not for me.” His eyes slowly open and lock with Andrew’s. “Okay?”

Andrew doesn’t know if he can actually answer that question, not in any verbal way at least; there’s a lump in his throat blocking the way, and there’s so much in Steven’s statement to unpack that his mind can’t sort through it fast enough.

So instead, he closes his eyes, tilts his head back ever so slightly, and kisses Steven.

Steven’s arms tighten even more around his neck, and he sighs quietly against Andrew’s mouth as he parts his lips a little, just enough so that they fit together better. Andrew bunches both of his hands tightly into the back of Steven’s sweater and tries not to simply sag to the kitchen floor and drag Steven down with him.

When Steven pulls away to take a breath, he drags his palms up Andrew’s neck and curves them around his cheeks, splays his fingers wide. His hands feel burning hot, and Andrew suspects he’ll be able to feel them there long after they slide away, lingering like a tattoo.

It’s far too soon to say it, but _I love you_ almost falls from his mouth like an apple from a tree.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about that,” Steven says with a slight laugh, cheeks flushing bright pink.

“I don’t know,” Andrew muses, feeling remarkably breathless despite the briefness of the kiss. “I’ve thought about it a _lot_.”

“Was it as good as you imagined?” Based on the grin overtaking his mouth, Steven is teasing, but Andrew knows the answer immediately.

“Better. So much better, Steven.”

In the seconds before Steven abruptly dives back in and slides his fingers up into Andrew’s hair, his facial expression softens into something that almost looks like pure and utter _adoration._

Andrew almost melts.

They don’t end up making tea. Every time they break apart, they fall right back together again. On a purely theoretical level, Andrew is aware that there’s still a world outside of his kitchen, but it’s hard to keep that in mind. It’s hard to think of anything that isn’t directly related to the feeling of Steven’s teeth tentatively pressing into his bottom lip, to the feeling of his skin against Andrew’s fingertips where he’s slid them up underneath the back of his hoodie. It’s like the world has shrunk to a pinhole that only encompasses the two of them.

Eventually, they break away again to breathe, but before Andrew can lean back in, Steven twists and tries to bury a wide yawn into his own shoulder.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move out of Andrew’s arms.

“You could stay,” Andrew responds, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth against the base of Steven’s spine. A light tremor courses through his body, and while it’s definitely not the time or place to explore that further, Andrew tucks it away for future reference. “You can borrow some of my clothes.”

Steven smiles and bumps his nose against Andrew’s. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.” It comes out a little more eager than he intended, and he presses ahead so that Steven doesn’t get the wrong idea. “I can take the couch, if you want.”

“Why would I want that? I trust you.” Steven presses a quick kiss to the corner of Andrew’s mouth before he steps back and buries another yawn into his arm. “But if we don’t go to bed soon, _I’m_ not going to make it past the couch.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Andrew says. There’s a strange sense of giddiness flooding through him, and he almost wants to laugh in sheer disbelief that the night has actually come to this. Reaching out and taking Steven’s hand, he continues, “Let’s go.”

He gives Steven free reign of his closet and dresser so that he can find something that will (mostly) fit him, and he changes in the bathroom and brushes his teeth. When he returns to the bedroom, he begins to say, “There’s a toothbrush on the counter for you.”

He makes it no further than the second word. The rest die in his throat.

Steven is stretched out in the middle of the bed, one arm tucked under his head, eyes closed. He’s borrowed a pair of Andrew’s flannel pajama pants, which are a few inches too short, and a plain black t-shirt, which is a little too big. He looks so comfortable, like he’s been in Andrew’s bed a thousand times before, that Andrew hates to disturb him, but he’s pretty sure Steven would regret not brushing his teeth come morning.

“Hey,” he says, settling down on the edge of the mattress and nudging Steven’s hip. “You can’t fall asleep yet.”

“Not my fault,” Steven mumbles, words thick with sleep as he slowly cracks one eye open. “Your bed’s too comfy.”

“It’ll be even comfier once you’ve brushed your teeth.”

“That’s not... I don’t think that’s how that works,” Steven responds, but he sits up anyways and shuffles out of the room with another jaw-cracking yawn. While he waits for him to come back, Andrew plugs both of their phones in and turns off the overhead light, leaving only the small lamp on his nightstand, which is easy enough to reach from the bed, on. He only checks a few of his notifications before Steven returns. There’s a few stray water droplets trailing down his cheeks and along the side of his neck, and Andrew is grateful that his phone is still in his hands; it keeps him from doing something foolish, like reaching out and tracing the trails of those droplets with his thumb, or maybe even his mouth.

“Let’s see if you’re right about the bed being comfier,” Steven mumbles, sliding under the blankets. Andrew turns the lamp out, plunging them into darkness that’s barely broken by the faint glow of a streetlight outside. As soon as he’s under the covers as well, Steven slides over and drops his head to Andrew’s chest.

“Is this okay?” he asks, slinging one long arm over Andrew’s waist. Objectively, Andrew’s pretty sure that this should feel like too much, too soon, that it should be almost overwhelming but, perhaps because he’s wanted it for so long, it feels like a missing part of his life has finally slotted into place.

“This is perfect,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Steven’s head and moving his arm so that he can wrap it around Steven’s shoulders.

He wasn’t feeling especially tired before, but now that he’s in the dark, now that the room is quiet enough for him to hear the steady rhythm of Steven’s breathing, he can feel sleep threatening to pull him under. Part of him wants to surrender to it, because the sooner he falls asleep, the sooner he gets to see if waking up beside Steven is every bit as wonderful as he’s dreamed, but there’s a question he’s curious about. It’s a question that’s been in his mind all day, but he was so busy worrying that he couldn’t concentrate on it. Now that his anxieties have been (mostly) quelled, it’s there, loud and clear, demanding an answer.

He’s not sure what kind of answer he’s going to get, seeing as Steven is on the verge of unconsciousness, but his curiosity is too strong to wait until morning.

“Why now?” he mumbles into Steven’s hair as he whisks his thumb back and forth along the smooth skin underneath Steven’s sleeve. “After all this time?”

When a few seconds tick by without an answer, Andrew assumes that Steven has already fallen asleep, that his curiosity will damn well have to wait. But, just when he’s prepared to drift off himself, Steven shrugs minutely.

“I don’t know,” he answers, words so sleep-muddled that it takes Andrew a moment to understand them. “It just felt like, if I didn’t do it soon, I’d never do it, and I couldn’t take that chance. ‘sides, I figured I could always say it was for a video if you said no.”

Andrew can’t help but laugh.

“Well,” he murmurs, letting his eyes fall closed, “thank you for asking me.”

If Steven says anything further, Andrew is asleep before he can hear it.

&.

When Andrew wakes up, there’s early morning sunlight drifting through the windows, Steven is still fast asleep on his chest, and Andrew’s arm is completely and utterly numb.

If it wasn’t for that last detail, he’s pretty sure that he could stay in bed for hours, simply soaking up the sunlight and the heat from Steven’s body, could let himself be lulled back to sleep by Steven’s breathing. As is, he carefully slides his arm out from underneath Steven and gets out of bed, takes his time so that he doesn’t wake him up.

At the very least, if he’s going to be up, he can make breakfast for them.

He’s putting the finishing touches on some blueberry pancakes when his phone vibrates on the counter with a message from Annie to the group chat.

_ did Corporal Wojtek find a home? _

Before Andrew can answer, Steven sends a blurry picture of the bear sitting on top of Andrew’s dresser. The picture is shot from a strange, tilted angle, and perhaps it’s because of his familiarity with the angle, since it’s what he sees when he wakes up almost every morning, but Andrew thinks that it’s pretty clear that it was shot from his bed, and he has no doubt that Adam and Annie are going to be able to connect the dots.

Moments after the picture, Steven sends another message.

_before either of you can ask, the date went great._

Andrew grins as he loads up a tray with two plates, two mugs of coffee and a bottle of syrup and carries it to the bedroom. 

Steven is still underneath the blankets, lying on his side, tapping away at his phone, but as soon as Andrew steps inside, Steven tosses it aside.

“C’mere,” he says, voice still thick with sleep, as he starts making grabby hands, the way he does when Andrew has a treat that he’s pretending that he doesn’t want to share.

“But the food’s going to get cold,” Andrew answers, even as he sets the tray on the floor and climbs back onto the bed.

“That’s what microwaves are for.” Steven pulls the blankets back so that Andrew can slide back underneath them, drops his arm back around Andrew’s waist and twists his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Andrew’s breath hitches when one of Steven’s fingertips brushes against his skin, and he presses his palm to Steven’s cheek.

It still doesn’t feel real, that this is something he actually gets to experience outside of the theater of his mind.

He wonders if it’ll ever feel real.

Steven’s phone vibrates from its hiding place in the sheets with what Andrew is willing to bet is a message to their group chat, and his grin returns in full force.

“So,” he says, shifting closer, “the date went great?”

Steven laughs and turns his head to press a soft kiss to Andrew’s palm. “What do _you_ think?”

If there’s a question Andrew has ever known the answer for, it’s that one.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning in so that he can steal what he hopes will be the first good morning kiss of many. “I think it did.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


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